


Come Here Often?

by keyflight790



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Light Angst, M/M, Polyjuiced Sex, Semi-Public Sex, glamour, polyjuice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25698937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: Ron's not feeling himself. Luckily, the stranger at the bar likes him anyway.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Comments: 19
Kudos: 98
Collections: Daily Deviant





	Come Here Often?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FangQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/gifts).



> Oh FangQueen, I am such a fan of yours. Was delighted to get to write you this. Happy Banging Birthday, friend! Big thanks to primaverecerezos for betaing this mess.
> 
> Written for the Daily Deviant Banging Birthday 2020 Fest.

Ron felt lost after the war ended. As horrible as the entire thing was, it had given him purpose; made him special. Made him more than just another redhead with hand-me-down robes.  
  
With Fred gone, Ron didn’t even feel like he belonged at home. He found himself spending less time at the Burrow and more time at Grimmauld Place with Harry, helping him fix it up and clear out the clutter. However, Ginny soon became a staple, and while he loved his sister dearly, he didn’t want to impose. He’d felt like a third for too long in his life.  
  
Hermione was off at the Ministry, and Neville and Luna were teaching at Hogwarts, and Ron knew he could go stay with Dean and Seamus, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be with anyone that reminded himself of his previous life. Ron found himself avoiding mirrors, photos, anything that could prod at the memories of the life he had.

The last thing he needed was to see the scars on his arms, the hollow of his cheeks, the darkness in his eyes.

The Glamour happened accidentally at first. He’d caught the smallest glimpse of red hair in the reflection of his glass cabinets one morning, instantly slamming his eyes shut in disgust. When he finally opened them, his hair was darker, almost like wine instead of crimson.

He grabbed his wand out of his pocket and tapped his face cautiously, just trying to see what other masks he could apply to his freckles. To his nose. To the circles under his eyes.

Before he knew it, he was looking at a completely different person. Same height, same build, but his face was rounder, his cheeks fuller. The bags under his eyes disappeared. Without his shock of red hair, Ron almost didn’t recognize himself. The only thing that remained constant on his face were his blue eyes. After the failed spell on his rat, Ron didn’t want to risk changing his eye colour.

He started going out of the house like that, noticing how the Wizarding World didn’t even bat an eye as he walked by. He wasn’t a war hero, or Harry Potter’s best friend, or the dead boy’s brother. He was a stranger among strangers. In the background once again.

It was perfect.

Ron found himself keeping his Glamour on long after he got home, sitting on the couch and eating bagged tacos and listening to Quidditch on the Wireless. It made him feel comfortable and safe. Confident in a way he never felt in his own skin.

He supposed it was that confidence that finally led him to the Muggle club in Hoxton.

When he arrived, Ron walked straight through the entrance as confident as he had been walking up to any chess board; after all, he wasn’t the gangly, freckled git his brothers always teased. He wasn’t the sidekick to the Saviour and the Brain. He wasn’t even Ron.

“What can I get you, mate?” the bartender called.

“Viktor,” Ron said, craving to see how the name felt rolling off his tongue. It felt wonderful, like a wave of magic, and Ron found himself straightening his spine as he continued. “Scotch on the rocks, thanks.”

The bartender nodded, and it was only a minute before he slid a glass Ron’s way. “Here you go, Viktor!” he said with a smile before turning his back and tending to the other patrons.

“Viktor, hmm?” Ron heard from his right, and when he turned, he was greeted by a pair of steely grey eyes that looked so familiar. He blinked, before taking in the rest of the man’s face. Sturdy jaw, sharp cheekbones. He resembled someone Ron knew, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it. Maybe a cousin of someone, although he couldn’t even begin to guess who.

Not that this man was even a wizard. They were in a Muggle club, after all.

“Da,” Ron answered, nodding his head. Underneath the glamour, he knew he was blushing. Where had that bit of Russian come from? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of any thoughts of doubt. He could do this. He could be Viktor. He could be free.

“I knew a Viktor once,” the man said, before motioning to the bartender for his own drink. “Great on a br - I mean - baseball.”

Ron shrugged. As muggle as he wanted to be that evening, he didn’t know a lick about muggle sports.

“I, of course, love watching basketball. Favourite sport.” The man took a swig of his beer. “Name’s Luc by the way.”

Ron lifted his drink. “Nice to meet you,” he said, and clinked their glasses together.

“Come here often?” Luc asked, and when Ron glanced back at him, he saw a glimpse of something so recognizable in his eyes. It was as if he’d stared into those eyes so many times, but in a different way. With...walls or anger or hidden…

“I know, it’s a lame pickup line,” Luc continued nervously. “I...am a bit out of practice.”

“Practice with what?” Ron asked his eyes still locked on to steel grey. Maybe if they were narrower…

“Flirting, I suppose,“ Luc said, shifting his eyes away from Ron’s until he was staring at his lap. “I read a few books and they all said…”

“Start with an pick-up line.” Ron remembered reading the same thing in Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches.

“Right,” Luc nodded. “Would you mind if I tried another one?”

Ron hoped the Glamour was still hiding his blush. He was getting picked up, not five minutes from entering the bar. This disguise was working perfectly. “Go for it,” he said, trying to hide the glee in his voice.

Luc nodded. “Rapid fire, please let me know which one works.” He took a breath, met Ron’s eyes and started.

“You must be exhausted, because you’ve been running through my mind all day.”

Ron tried to bite back a smile.

“If you were in a book, you’d be the fine print.”

Hermione would certainly love that one.

“Good thing I brought gloves, because you’re too hot to handle.”

He couldn’t help it. Ron burst out into laughter. “What about, ‘You must be made of cheese, because you’re looking Goud-a!’”

The corners of Luc’s lips turned up into a smile. “Are you a tower? Because Eiffel for you.”

“If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber.”

“I’m going to ace this exam, because I’ve been studying you like crazy.”

“Is it hot in here, or is it just you?”

“If sexy was a crime, you’d be guilty.”

Luc’s eyes darkened as he stared back at Ron. “Nice shirt, can I talk you out of it?”

Ron knew just how to respond. “Is that a mirror in your pants, because I can see myself in them.”

“Do I have to sign for your package?” Luc raised his eyebrows, and after a moment, licked his lips.

Ron could feel his heart pounding. “I like to be on top of things,” he said, raking his eyes down Luc’s body. “Would you like to be one of them?”

“Fuck, yes,” Luc said with a grin. He glanced at his watch before downing his drink. “We have to be quick, though.”

“What, here?” Ron sputtered.

“I don’t have time to get a hotel room. It’s either here or never.” Luc gave him a cunning smile. “Surely you’ve done it in the loos before.” Before Ron could answer, Luc had left, weaving his way through throngs of people on his way to the back.

Ron followed shortly after, making sure to shrink his wand so it didn’t fall out of his jeans no matter what happened.

When he entered the loo, he was surprised to see it was empty, save one. The music also seemed to be muted, just a dull noise to remind him that they were, in fact, in a public place.

“So,” Luc said in greeting. He seemed uncomfortable, far more so than he had at the bar.

“So,” Ron said in response. “You alright?”

Luc nodded in earnest. “I just haven’t done this in a while.”

“Hooked up in a loo? Can’t say I’ve done this at all.”

Luc blushed, and Ron was suddenly struck with how beautiful he was. Even in the gross fluorescent lights, his eyes looked so bright, so earnest. Ron had the urge to kiss him.

“It would help if you...took charge,” Luc said, blushing even farther.

Ron blinked, stunned. “Took charge?” he questioned. He had always been a bit of a follower, chasing after Harry, following Hermione’s instructions. Doing what his brothers told him to do, respecting his parents’ wishes. Taking charge didn’t seem like something he would do.

But it could be something Viktor did. In fact, he bet Viktor would be quite good at giving orders.

Ron straightened his spine, letting his Glamour take over. If this scene were playing out in his fantasies, he knew exactly what he’d want.

He took a moment to survey the entirety of Luc, backed up nervously against the stone-covered wall. He was a gorgeous specimen, tall and slender, with jutting hip bones angled towards Ron in earnest.

“Get on your knees,” Ron said, then winced when his voice barely broke a whisper. He coughed, awkwardly, before rolling his shoulders and trying again. He could do this. Viktor could do this.

Luc stood awkwardly in front of him, looking unsure, as if this whole plan was hogwash.

“Get on your knees,” Ron said, and this time his voice came out sharp, sure. Luc snapped to attention, before gracefully falling to his knees. He looked at Ron expectantly, his mouth slightly open and eyelashes fluttering.

“Suck my cock,” Ron continued, surprising himself with how deep his voice was. He took a step towards Luc, before slowly unzipping his jeans. Luc’s eyes fell to the denim, licking his lips in earnest. He wanted this. Ron wanted this. Viktor wanted this.

Ron was hard, harder than he had been since the war, since his brother died, since he became a hero for living and fighting. Ron tried to push those thoughts back. Viktor’s brother didn’t die. Viktor didn’t fight in the war. He wasn’t part of the golden trio. He wasn’t a hero.

He was just a person in the loo with his cock in his hand, about to feed it to a man on his knees.

Luc opened his mouth wide, sticking his tongue out to accept Viktor’s offering. As soon as his mouth was full of cock, Luc hollowed his cheeks and began to suck, pulling Viktor farther and farther into his mouth and down his throat.

It felt so good, the suction, the power, and soon Ron threaded his fingers through Luc’s hair, relishing in the movements, the control of setting the speed of his pleasure.

Luc moaned deliciously around his cock when Ron pulled at his scalp, forcing him to take Ron’s cock so deep that he was scraping the back of his throat. The confidence he felt, knowing Luc was enjoying this as much as he was.

“Fuck,” Ron said, tilting his head backwards in bliss. Ron was getting lost in it, the thrust of his hips, the feel of Luc’s mouth surrounding his throbbing cock. It was so perfect that Ron almost forgot where they were. He couldn’t hear the music of the bar, or the patrons talking outside. All he could hear was Luc’s moans, and the panting from his own lips.

Yes, he thought to himself. Viktor could enjoy himself in a seedy loo in a Muggle club, and not think twice about whether someone was using him for his connection to the war, his connection to Potter. Or thanking him for letting his brother die, their friends die. He didn’t have to think about leaving the forest of Dean, or hiding out in Shell Cottage, or anything like that. He only had to feel, and gasp, and moan.

And come.

Ron could feel his whole body tighten, and he could barely withdraw from Luc’s tight lips before he started to come, thick spurts erupting from him without his control.

He was coming, hard, on Luc’s face, on his gorgeous, plump lips. Ron wanted to see those lips, those eyes, how the steely grey looked all blissed out and fucked. He opened his own eyes and looked at the man on the floor, the man on his knees in front of him.

It wasn’t Luc that looked back.

“What the fuck?” Ron yelped. He finally knew where he recognized those grey eyes from.

Malfoy stared back in horror, his mouth agape as Ron’s seed dripped off his chiseled jaw.

Before Ron could fully process what happened, Malfoy stood up.

“Damn Polyjuice. Never lasts as long as I want.” Malfoy shook his head in disgust before pulling his wand from his back pocket. “Sorry, Viktor,” he said with a smirk. “Obliviate.”

\---

When Ron came to, he found himself collapsed on a dirty loo floor. His neck hurt, and his back ached, but otherwise he was unharmed.

He remembered going to the bar. He remembered drinking Scotch.

It must have been more than one for him to black out on the floor like this.

Ron stood shakily, bracing himself on the bathroom sinks as he peered at his reflection in the mirror. Still in Viktor’s disguise. At least his Glamour held.

There was something written on the glass, however. Ron’s eyesight was still a bit blurry, but after blinking for a moment, he was able to read the message.

“Call me if you want to deliver your package. ~Luc.”


End file.
